


A Stranger Named Friend

by SageSloth



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bad Crowley, Blood and Violence, Canon Divergent, Crowley Whump, Exorcism, Gen, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Just an excuse to beat my boy around some more, Possessed Crowley, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), good omens - Freeform, whump over substance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 04:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageSloth/pseuds/SageSloth
Summary: It had been two weeks since he had heard from Crowley. The plan to switch bodies to fool their respective superiors had gone off without a hitch on the angel’s side, but Crowley hadn’t arrived at their meeting spot. He didn’t show and hadn’t showed since.





	1. Disconnected

_‘Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.’_

Aziraphale set down the receiver and blew a sigh out into his cheeks. It had been two weeks since he had heard from Crowley. The plan to switch bodies to fool their respective superiors had gone off without a hitch on the angel’s side, but Crowley hadn’t arrived at their meeting spot. He didn’t show and hadn’t showed since. Aziraphale had checked Crowley’s flat, but found no sign of him. The Bentley was in its normal parking spot. He had been to the Ritz and the rest of their favourite hang outs, but he couldn’t find him anywhere.

It was a cold Monday afternoon when Aziraphale finally found his friend. The tall demon sauntered coolly down the street like he had not a care in the world and Aziraphale turned the open sign to closed on the door of the shop and pushed out onto the street.

‘Crowley!’ he called, fumbling with the key to lock the door and flitted across the road to catch up with him, ‘Hey! Stop!’

Crowley didn’t stop, he carried on walking with his shoulders low and his hands slung casually in his pockets.

Aziraphale’s cheeks were flushed as he caught up with Crowley, ‘Where have you been?’ he hissed under his breath, ‘When you didn’t turn up to the meeting spot I thought the worst!’

‘Leave me alone,’ Crowley muttered. That’s when Aziraphale noticed that he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

‘Crowley, whatever’s the matter?’

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s collar and threw him at the wall, pinning him in place, ‘How do you know my name and what do you want?’

Aziraphale felt all words fly from his reach. He stared up into the yellow eyes of his dear friend and saw no recognition there, ‘it’s me,’ he said, his voice trembling, ‘Aziraphale.’

‘An angel?’ Crowley scoffed in disdain and let go of him, ‘Stay out of my business, White Wings.’

‘ _White wings_?’ Aziraphale gawked and straightened his jacket, ‘How dare you! Where do you get off speaking to me like—now, hang on. Where are you going?’

Crowley rolled his eyes and kept walking in the direction he had been, but the angel wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

‘What have they done to you?’ Aziraphale asked, almost jogging to keep up with Crowley’s long strides, ‘Do you really not know me or are you just pretending because they’ve threatened you? You can tell me you know. I can help.’

‘What have you been smoking?’ Crowley gave a cruel laugh, ‘Go back to your clouds and leave me alone.’

‘My goodness, you are being quite rude you know!’ Aziraphale said, ‘suddenly you seem just like any other de—’ He stopped dead in his tracks and Crowley carried on walking.

He seemed just like any other demon. But Crowley wasn’t like other demons, he never had been. He was a complex thinker with his eyes on the bigger picture. He wasn’t cruel he was just mean. He was capable of empathy and kindness whether he liked to admit it or not. Even when their friendship had been in its infancy, Crowley had been the one more often than not to initiate conversation. It was he who wanted to get to know the angel and set up a mutually beneficial Arrangement with him. He had never called him _White Wings_ , a slur thought up by some pretty stupid demons that nevertheless was hurtful to most angels. It basically meant naïve and stupid, as demon’s wings were also white before they rebelled and Fell.

Aziraphale knew that something had happened to Crowley. Some may have called him naïve to believe so, but he was certain Crowley would never act that way under normal circumstances. Something had gone wrong and he was determined to find out what.

 

* * *

 

 

Crowley walked slowly into the church and cracked his neck. The Holy Ground burned his feet but he kept walking regardless. The group of men knelt down at the alter, deep in focus while a woman lay on the ground, bound to a dirty mattress and convulsing.

Aziraphale knew an exorcism when he saw one and did not like where things were heading. He snuck in behind Crowley and crouched behind one of the pews.

‘Excuse me,’ one of the men stood up as Crowley approached, ‘How did you get in here?’ He froze when he saw the demon’s snake eyes and tried to scream but Crowley’s hand closed around his throat.

Aziraphale felt his heart jump up his throat. What was he doing? If any of those men reach for the Holy Water or a Cross he was done for.

Crowley opened his jaw wide and snake fangs grew down into his mouth. The man screamed before Crowley buried his teeth in his neck. He tore out a chunk of flesh and spat it aside before dropping the man. Dead.

Aziraphale’s stomach lurched and he put a hand over his mouth. The other men scrambled to their feet and ran but Crowley stood in their way and grabbed them both by the jugular.

‘You wanted a demon, boys,’ he hissed, ‘You got one.’

One of the men started to whisper the words of the exorcism and Crowley laughed.

‘You think Latin’s going to save you?’ He ripped the man’s throat out with his fingers, ‘Who do you think had a hand in inventing it?’

The front of the other man’s trousers were wet through, his eyes dripping with tears of terror as he pleaded with Crowley to spare him.

‘Not a chance,’ Crowley hissed again and opened his jaw.

‘Enough!’ Aziraphale shouted and marched up the aisle, ‘That is quite enough, Crowley. Now you put this gentleman down and restore the lives you took.’

Crowley watched Aziraphale before closing his fist around the surviving man’s neck, crushing his windpipe and the top of his spinal cord, ‘You again?’

‘This isn’t you, Crowley,’ Aziraphale said, his eyes momentarily moving over the girl who was still tied to the old mattress and was now spattered in blood, ‘Stop this behavior right now and come and have a nice cup of tea with me. We’ll straighten all this out in a jiffy.’

‘I’m a demon!’ Crowley growled and leaned down at Aziraphale. The angel had never seen such anger and disdain in his face. It was like someone else was wearing it. ‘I don’t have tea with angels. I kill and tempt humans to their destruction and if an angel gets in my way then I’ll kill them too.’

He hissed and bared his fangs at Aziraphale, who felt himself growing more cross by the moment, ‘Last chance,’ he warned with a pointed finger.

Crowley opened his jaws wide and Aziraphale slapped him across the face. The sound reverberated off of the stained glass windows and high ceilings and send shudders through the angel’s body.

‘Now,’ he said, puffing out his chest, ‘Restore the lives you took and come with me this instant!’

Crowley growled harshly and brought up a bloodied hand to strike the angel but Aziraphale waved a hand and said, ‘sleep,’ and the demon crumpled to the ground at his feet.

Aziraphale straightened his lapels and breathed life back into the men Crowley had killed, although not before setting the poor young lady free. He clicked his fingers and transported both he and the demon back to his book shop. Crowley lay sprawled out across the floor while Aziraphale fixed them both a hot cup of cocoa.


	2. Defiance

Most of what humans believed about demon hunting was false. There were, however, a few things one could do to trap a pesky demon if one had both the cause and the means. For instance, Aziraphale had managed to haul Crowley’s body up onto one of his wooden dining chairs and draw a complicated sigil around it, trapping the demon inside its scrawls. It contained Crowley’s true name, which the demon had generously spent hours teaching Aziraphale how to draw once while they shared a particularly good bottle of chateauneuf du pape.

As Crowley woke he felt the confines of the sigil immediately and his face broke out into rage, ‘When I get out of here, angel, you’re going to wish you were never created. I swear I’ll—’

‘Yes, yes,’ Aziraphale held up a dismissive palm, ‘I’ve heard it all before. Shall we get on with things?’

‘What things?’ Crowley hissed.

‘For a start,’ Aziraphale tossed a clean and pressed shirt at him, ‘I got this from your flat, thought you might want to get the exorcist’s blood off of your—’

‘I don’t care about a few stains!’

‘Well you’re not setting foot around my shop unless you change, so I suggest you shut up and get bloody well on with it!’ Aziraphale suppressed a little gasp. He hadn’t felt so cross in such a long time, especially not with Crowley.

Crowley growled in his throat and tore off his stained shirt, dropping it to the ground. Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow warm and turned away to wait for Crowley get dressed again.

‘What do you even want with me, anyway?’ Crowley asked, picking the shirt up off of the floor, ‘Have you brought me here just to watch me undress?’

‘I resent what you’re implying! I—’ The angel whirled around and stopped frozen.

In the centre of Crowley's chest, right in the sternum, was a deep scar in the shape of what Aziraphale could only describe as a broken star. The flesh looked like it had been burned away and then healed again in quick succession and Aziraphale felt faint upon seeing it.

‘What’s that?’ he pointed at Crowley’s chest.

Crowley looked down at his chest and shrugged, ‘It’s a scar.’

‘Demons don’t have scars,’ Aziraphale said quickly between gritted teeth, ‘ **What. Is. It.** ’

Crowley frowned hard, squinting at the angel, ‘Why do you care?’

‘When did you get it?’ Aziraphale asked again, ‘What happened?’

‘I—’ Crowley stopped, realising that he didn’t have an answer, ‘I don’t know.’

Aziraphale tapped a finger against his lips, ‘No, I didn’t think you would.’

‘Stop talking in riddles! What do you want with me?’ Crowley barked.

‘I believe that someone has tampered with you, my dear, and it appears that it is not only your mind but your body that has been interfered with.’

‘By who?’

Aziraphale shook his head, ‘Not sure.’

Crowley shook his head and pulled on the clean shirt Aziraphale had given him, ‘No, I don’t believe you. You angels are always full of tricks.’

‘Listen to yourself!’ Aziraphale cried, ‘You couldn’t sound less like _you_ if you tried!’

‘How do you know?’ Crowley hissed, ‘Who are you to know what I sound like?’

‘I’m your bes—’ Aziraphale pulled himself back and took a calming breath, ‘We’re friends.’

Crowley let out a cruel laugh, ‘Demons don’t make friends with angels.’

‘One did.’ He said, ‘And I’m going to get him back.’ He clicked his fingers together and the markings disappeared from the floor.

Crowley scoffed and turned towards the door, ‘Good luck with that.’ He sauntered towards the exit and fell suddenly, bracing himself against the wall and letting out a groan with pain.

‘That’ll do it.’ The angel shrugged his coat on and picked up his keys, ‘Come along now.’

‘Come along and what?’ Crowley said, leaning against the wall and rubbing his chest, ‘What have you done to me?’

‘I’ve bound us together.’ Aziraphale said, pulling the door open, ‘That means wherever I go you go or it’ll start to hurt quite a bit.’

The angel stepped out of the shop and looked back at the demon darkening the doorway.

‘Come on!’ Aziraphale said, ‘We need to go.’

‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Crowley said, ‘Just leave me alone, will you?’

Aziraphale took a few steps back and Crowley winced, letting out a groan and stumbling out of the shop.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure where to start. He couldn’t ask Heaven for help, not now that he wasn’t on their side anymore, but they must have done something to Crowley once they found out that he was disguising as the angel. Had they handed him back over to Hell for punishment? No, they couldn’t have. Aziraphale was in Hell at the same time Crowley was in Heaven, if that has happened he’d have known about it. So what then? Had Gabriel done something to Crowley?

‘What’s the last thing you remember?’ Aziraphale asked Crowley, knotting his fingers together in front of him.

Crowley rolled his shoulders back, ‘Getting slapped by an angel and waking up in a bloody book shop.’

‘No, before that.’

‘Killing exorcists?’

‘Before that?’

‘A crazy angel running up to me in the street?’

‘Before that!’

‘For Hell’s sake!’ Crowley barked, ‘I don’t know I was…doing stuff!’ he shrugged.

‘What stuff? Where?’

Crowley frowned and arched his brow as he thought back.

‘What’s the last thing you remember before today?’ Aziraphale prompted.

A look of pain flashed by Crowley’s eyes so fast any stranger would miss it. But not this angel.

‘Fire.’ Crowley answered.

‘Well, that’s vague.’ Aziraphale muttered, ‘Anything else?’ Crowley’s attention had gone. He was staring across the road at a couple of youths yelling abuse at one another and beating their chests. ‘Pay them no mind, Crowley,’ Aziraphale said, ‘I need you to focus on—hey, where are you going?’

As Crowley reached the middle of the street the bind started to pull and he groaned.

‘You can’t leave.’ Aziraphale said.

‘Watch me,’ Crowley growled and pressed onwards.

The invisible ties pulled hard at his chest and he doubled over in pain, reaching his knees in the middle of the road and continuing to crawl away from Aziraphale. The angel felt panic wash through him and hurried into the road, after looking both ways of course, to pick the demon up.

‘You can’t just lie down in the middle of a road!’ he cried, pulling Crowley to the pavement, ‘You’ll get yourself killed—well, inconveniently discorporated.’

‘I don’t care,’ Crowley pulled out of his grasp and kept walking.

‘But the paperwork—’

‘Fuck the paperwork!’ Crowley shouted, ‘I’m not your friend and I don’t need your help. If you don’t leave me alone, angel, I swear to Satan I’ll kill you.’

Aziraphale opened his mouth but he had run out of things to say. He couldn’t convince Crowley to stay, couldn’t force him either. He’d rather get himself killed than stay with Aziraphale and so the angel let go of the binds.

‘Fine,’ he said, ‘Just go then.’

Crowley turned quickly and kept walking, not needing to be told twice.

‘I take it you remember The Globe?’ Aziraphale asked.

Crowley stopped and tilted his face to the sky, ‘What?’

‘If you don’t need my help, and there’s nothing wrong with you, do you remember The Globe Theatre? Hamlet?’

Crowley turned around again, but didn’t say anything.

‘What about the Spanish Inquisition?’

Crowley shuddered.

‘Rome then? Remember Rome?’

No answer.

‘You don’t do you?’ Aziraphale stepped tentatively towards him, ‘But you were there, Crowley. In all those places. You lived a life that you don’t remember and we need to find a way to get it back. You weren’t created for this. This isn’t you.’

Something was turning within Crowley that Aziraphale couldn’t decipher. Was he getting through to him at all or was the demon just working out how best to kill him?

A man in a pinstripe suit barged past Aziraphale, knocking into his shoulder, and stopped in front of Crowley, ‘What’s wrong with people these days?’ he cried, clearly having just experienced a very bad day at the office and needing someone, _anyone,_ to take it out on, ‘You can’t just stop and have a chat in the middle of the street. Couple of dickhe—’

Crowley ripped the man’s tongue from his mouth before he could finish his sentence. Screams erupted from around the street and Aziraphale’s hopes were shattered.


	3. Loved

Aziraphale had seen Crowley do some bad things. He had seen Crowley’s rage and disgust spill out into vile actions and cruel words. But he had never seen his friend commit such a atrocities as he did that day. He was out of control, like the ones Aziraphale had read about in Heaven’s quarterly reports on evil deeds and demons of interest. He was a true, fully-fledged demon and the angel could hardly bear it.

Blood spilled freely across the concrete as more and more demons joined in with the carnage. It had started with Crowley killing the man in the pinstripe suit, ripping out his tongue and throwing his innards at terrified civilians fleeing for their lives, but other demons sensed the chaos, or smelled the blood, and soon there was an all-out riot. Aziraphale took refuge inside a convenience store, peering out at the terror unfolding outside.

The news was reporting it as a protest gone wrong, a bunch of rioters from the climate change protest taking place a few streets away having broken off and started acting violently.

Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off of Crowley. He was the ring-leader, the centre of attention and the head of the charge. Every direction he turned demons lunged forth and caused destruction. It was like if Midas had the bloodstained touch rather than the golden one. The angel knew he had to do something, but what?

Once the procession of violence had made its way further down the street, Aziraphale left the store and started to clean up wherever he could, mostly healing the worst of the injuries that he could. He didn’t have enough miracles to heal them all, but he did what he could before following where Crowley had gone.

He had to do something drastic, but the risk was high. Certainly he was no match for this amount of demons, especially ones as blood-thirsty as they were, but they had to be stopped and Crowley had to be saved. This wasn’t who Crowley was. He was a lot of things, but not a cold-blooded killer. He was clever and calculating and cunning, sometimes cruel but never without reason or even just a hint of mercy.

Even when he swapped the paint guns for real ones at that strange management training establishment, he hadn’t done it so that they would kill each other and never allowed that to happen. He wanted to teach them a lesson, to show them how valuable life was and why they shouldn’t play at taking it from their peers in such a violent manner.

Crowley was good, Aziraphale was sure of it, even if he grew angry at the very notion of it. That didn’t make it any less true.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale felt himself shouting the name before he had fully formed his plan and the demon stopped in the middle of the road.

His clothes were stained crimson and as he turned around his yellow eyes were glowing in violent delight. He bared his teeth and balled up his fists at the sight of the angel and began marching towards him.

‘You need to stop this. R-right now,’ Aziraphale felt himself truly, for the first time, fearing Crowley. There was no guarantee that the demon wouldn’t just rip out his throat or break his spine right here right now. None except that Aziraphale believed he wouldn’t.

Faith was something angels excelled at. They were so good at it that it sometimes made them blind. But if being blind meant that Aziraphale didn’t think his best friend capable of killing him then that was what he would be.

‘Call off your people and stop this now.’ Aziraphale demanded as Crowley continued to stalk towards him. He was a viper of a man, hissing and baring his teeth as he marked and stalked upon his prey.

‘Or what?’ he growled, craning his neck low.

‘Or I’ll never talk to you again!’ Aziraphale cried as he watched Crowley’s hand rise up above him and felt his bloodied breath upon his cheeks.

The demon stopped, his growl fading and his arm lowering.

_‘Love of my life’_ , Freddie Mercury crooned from somewhere nearby, ‘ _you’ve hurt me.’_

Crowley clutched at his chest and cried out in pain.

_‘You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me.’_

A funeral procession made its way out of a nearby church and the music grew in volume as crying faces followed the coffin into the cars to travel to the graveyard.

_‘Love of my life, can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back.’_

Crowley shrieked in pain and collapsed to the ground, holding his chest as if trying to keep something from bursting out.

_‘Don’t take it away from me, because you don’t know what it means to me. Love of my life, don’t leave me.’_

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale knelt in front of him, ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

 ‘It’s burning!’ Crowley cried and Aziraphale pulled open the demon’s shirt. The blistering scar was glowing like there was a fire trapped inside.

‘What is?’ Aziraphale looked at the blazing flesh, ‘What is that?’

_‘You’ve stolen my love, now you desert me. Love of my life, can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back.’_

Crowley’s chest ripped open and a ball of Hellfire exploded out. Aziraphale threw himself backwards to avoid its flames and it flew up into the air and away.

_‘Don’t take it away from me, because you don’t know what it means to me.’_

The funeral procession drove away and took the music with it, leaving just Crowley’s strained panting as the only sound in the air.

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale whimpered, not bringing himself to get closer just yet.

Crowley’s yellow eyes darted around his surroundings until finally landing upon Aziraphale, ‘What’s going on, angel? Where am I?’

‘It’s a long story really.’ Aziraphale said, pulling his lapel, ‘Are you…alright?’

There was blood all over him, his own and otherwise. He reached for his temple and frowned, looking around him. Then he looked down at himself.

‘What’s happened?’ Crowley demanded, ‘Aziraphale?’

The angel delighted at the sound of his name, ‘Oh! Your back!’ he gasped and leapt forward, wrapping his arms around the demon’s neck. ‘Thank Heaven, I was so worried you’d never—’

‘Get off!’ Crowley pushed the angel off of him, ‘What are you getting all sentimental about?’

‘Nothing.’ Aziraphale shook his head with a coy smile.

Something exploded in another street.

‘Oh, you’ve got some cleaning up to do.’ Aziraphale noted.

‘ _Me_? Why?’

‘I’ll explain on the way.’ The angel said, climbing to his feet. He offered a hand to Crowley.

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and together they hauled him up to his feet.

‘So, how did it go with Gabriel? You didn’t turn up to the meeting point.’ Aziraphale said as they walked along the street.

‘Oh, that.’ Crowley bit his lip, ‘Yeah, few problems there.’

‘Really?’ Aziraphale feigned surprise, ‘Such as?’

‘I’ll explain on the way.’

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes;  
> 1) This is just a short little ditty about an idea I had.  
> 2) More whump.  
> 3) More protective angel.


End file.
